To Draco: This is the truth
by Ashes of Stars
Summary: On returning from a four year escapism, Draco finds news that will answer a question he has been asking for so long. But can news from four years ago still be true?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimers always apply. **

**1.1**

The hot summer of Calcutta had exhausted Draco somewhat agedly. He hadn't tried to fight off the heat, or the busy people, but thrived with the music all the streets would emit, and coped well with the endless nights of sleeplessness which plagued him horridly. The dreams he would have were unrelenting and he suffered badly nowadays from reckless insomnia. In Calcutta it was fine, for the city never really slept much, especially as it was just as hot sleeping as it was awake. He could hear, at night, the groans of his landlady as she tossed and turned in a fit of sweat- he supposed- and heat.

And why had he been there, and why was he leaving? He had started off on a worldwide trip to see the lands his father had once said were to uncivilised to visit and pour precious money into. It was a rebellion against his fathers immortal legacy, which would not stop piling on fear and gossip into the hearts of those within England and the surrounding places which had been greatly affected by Voldemort's tyranny. Draco had spent some years after his fathers deathly demise in England, however there was so many books and television shows he indulged in that told stories of places yet to see, and he moved within the pages towards the lands of fantasy and glory.

He had loved it. For almost six years he had been on the run from the oppression, and the magical influx of a communist society he could not shake off. That all had faded, at least the communism, four years after Draco had left. A new Minister of Magic had come into power, and his dutiful ways were not lost on the hearts of his people. Yet even Severus' happy reign over the Magical British Isles would not bring Draco home. The oppression did not stray from the people and could not be eradicated, despite Severus' desperate attempts to do so, from the Wizarding world.

It had been like the war again, the complex fear that around each corner lay some uninhabited evil waiting to consume you, and the fire that raged- like pride- beneath everyone's chests was not enough to burn out the dense fright. Yet, the war was over, so why now was everyone as small as mice and as incompetent as children? It had been to much, trying to cohere with society and think it stupid together, and that's why Draco strayed away.

Draco was travelling back the Muggle way. He liked the slow pulse of trains against the tracks they ran on, and he loved the bumpy idle cars that whizzed over roads like bee's eager for the pollen of a rose. He drank up the heavy, intoxicating fumes of movable contraptions like an old Witch guzzling her precious Pumpkin Liqueur, and he, for the first time, was able to sit back and relax. He detested now the easiness of Wizards, and how they felt no compassion for the beautiful scenery of the world; instead, each one seemed to enjoy popping back and forth, between time zones and space, and for Draco who had never really had to work for anything until now found this behaviour appalling.

Somewhere down the train a ticket officer was calling, asking everybody to have their tickets ready. Unused to the thick English accent, Draco tried not to grimace at its unmusical tempo. He imagined the man to not be of chocolate, or toffee, skin instead like each and every walrus Englishman he happened to pass. The train was rhythmic against his body, as it shuffled with speed from Dover to London.

The officer checked his ticket, giving a disapproving glance in way of the small cardboard item, and this left Draco reeling in the rudeness of English people. Such arrogant arseholes, the lot of them, he thought to himself.

Wondering to himself what the world would be like when he stepped off the train, his mind went back to mush like that of the Calcutta heat, and surely soon he was asleep.

**1.2**

'…London. Boy, we have, er, reached our last stop, er, you might want to get off." Spoke a voice to his left. Had he fallen asleep that long? Looking up through half lidded eyes, and he was met with the dark face of an Anglo-Indian cleaner.

The end of the line was doom. He was walking with such regret towards being back and not free anymore that it irked him merely to be alive. What was he doing here? Why had he left Calcutta for England when there was so many other places to visit and discover.

Draco had not, against the advice of his Godfather, let out his apartment which was situated in a rather prestigious part of Notting Hill. He had argued, quite profusely, that he would indeed come back and had not wanted the impending wait of tenants moving out. He had not wanted to move any of his precious belongings either, and eventually Snape relented. Draco, upon reaching the steps to his home, opened the door with a sigh of catharsis. He felt pent up with the anticipation to see things he had forgotten about, to see those pictures with memories he had lost, and to be secured within a place he had not been in for some time.

The keys clicked within the lock, much like the time he closed the door and locked it; a strange prelude to his disappearance from this place. Echoing back dreams, he launched himself into his house and stood in darkness just smelling. There was home, and it was unburdening like he had imagined it would be, and distantly he could smell sweet redemption from his escapism.

'You're home.' Whispered his jetlagged mind. Thank Merlin, he thought.

Draco went about opening his curtains in the living room, which sat behind his oak dining table. The midday light cast a glow upon the table which heaved with unopened and lost correspondence. Draco ignored the battle of letters for a while, whilst he whirled around his flat discovering something old, but quite refreshing, once again. But even that couldn't occupy his mind for long enough that the night overtook day, and so decidedly he began opening and tearing away letters.

There were few that he took interest in, but he opened all to thank the aged magic that placed his mail here. Having spent a time without the joy of such easiness, he felt the need to repay the earths good giving of wonderful, effortless magic.

The most affecting piece of news he received was left on the table, picked up again, and it followed Draco from his front door into the night time. The letter, written in tidy black ink on fine parchment, had been sitting for many years on Draco's dining table. It had not been forgotten, it had not been read either, but it held a piece of information that had been plaguing Draco's mind for as long as he could remember. It was the answer to a question he had needed for four years, and now all he had to do was make sure that the question had not been forgotten by Harry.


	2. Part Two

**_This chapter is dedicated to _That-Fresh-Rain-Smell _For reviewing, praising and giving me a smile._**

**2.1**

Harry Potter was distraught. He was in a fit of depression, that made him want to sit when he stood- a sort of aching pine that would make him mewl with frustration- and stand when he sat. When he tried to occupy his mind with something, everything else fell down and broke and he couldn't concentrate. If he tried to read, nothing would engage him, and even though he was dousing himself in an unread copy of Orwell's Animal Farm he couldn't seem to relate to the characters. It was hell.

Almost bursting into unshed tears, Harry looked around his living room for something –anything- that would save him from this mess. He was a total fool, and Merlin had blessed him, some would say, with being able to get away with it. However he was not so sound of mind with that pseudo-fact as he would have liked to be. He wanted punishment, yet he wouldn't accept or respect the mental battle going between his ears.

Harry Potter had been a bad, bad boy. He had been seeing two people who had subsequently found out and astonishingly neither had much cared seeing as how smitten they were with him.

But it wasn't the fact that they had found out, or that he had two-timed two lovely people. It was the fact he had used them to cover his complete embarrassment with that horrible blind date he had been forced to go on with Draco Malfoy all that time ago. He really hadn't gotten over it yet.

'You're an idiot, Harry. You are a complete fool.' He said to himself, his hand tapping his chin lazily. I'm bored, he thought. Yet he looked around the room and found nothing between the colours that resided there, that would hook his attention for longer than the angsty trouble would.

The first boyfriend he was playing was a smart, tidy man some years older than Harry. He was a professor at Colith's Majestic University; a new establishment south of London. The University majored in Magical Science and Emil Aatos, Harry's boyfriend, was the head of the department for the experimental sciences. Emil stood at six foot three, with soft blonde hair and creamy brown eyes. Everything about him was stoic and rather complete; a fact that annoyed the twenty something Harry as he wasn't quite finished with his life as of yet.

The second boyfriend was a barman at Harry's local. He too was a Wizard, but not a very good one in terms of being able to summon the most simple of objects. And anything more complex than that troubled him to no end. But Harry had adored him, in some way, from the moment he had laid eyes on him. His name: Mercury. It sounds rather romantic, and it did to Harry too, until he found out the real name of his lover was Augustan Crossstop. For all intents and purposes he went by Mercury, which reflected the deep silver within his blue eyes. He was Harry's height- five foot nine- with brown hair that fell down to his shoulders in waves.

Mercury didn't spoil Harry like Emil did, but he did drive Harry crazy into passion unlike Emil, who was a soft, sweet and patient lover. Of most aspects of each boyfriend, and in all respects to this, Harry felt safe and wanted. He didn't feel needy or imperfect, but quite the opposite.

As Harry thought about all of this, he began to see the loose justification of what he had been doing to both men. How could he justify his actions because of a couple of dates that left him embarrassed and somewhat worried for his life? He couldn't, because things like that happened to everyone, but it didn't mean you left morals to pursue a life of deceit and lies. Yet, he had.

**2.2**

Harry moved from the small coffee shop in high agitation. He had been waiting for Hermione for over an hour, and after three strong double cappuccinos he was abuzz with fire. This added to the irritation he had felt the previous day over his stupid two timing affairs with Emil and Mercury. His anger transferred onto Hermione and as he stormed towards her house in the district of Chiswick, he began to think about every little thing the woman had done to annoy him in the past.

Her house was like many fairly modern London houses, tall and fairly thin. It stood on four floors, and the interior was extremely homely. It was filled with the browns of book bindings and oak coffee tables; the smell of rich coffee beans filled Harry's nose every time he entered.

Knocking on the door and waiting, Harry felt his anger deplete. He fought to arouse it, however when Hermione opened the door, somewhat dishevelled, he paused with his fury and looked at her quizzically. Something was amiss.

"Harry…" She greeted, semi warm but mostly confused. It was then that her eyes widened in remembrance, "Oh! I'm sorry Harry, something came up!" Harry cocked an eyebrow and turned his head, in time to see the slow, uncomfortable movements of Draco coming around the corner from Hermione's living room.

Draco looked slightly relieved and amused, and involuntarily Harry smiled. "Draco." He addressed politely, his flirtatious attitude coming to life with the sight of such a devilishly good looking man.

Draco turned to the reddened Hermione and smiled, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I'm going to take Harry for a walk, I'll shall see you soon?" Hermione nodded and smiled regretfully at Harry who looked dumbfounded at his choices being made for him. He was still fired up from the coffee's earlier, and was quite ready for a fight.

Draco took Harry out the door and set off side by side down towards the local common. It was chilly outside and Harry shivered suddenly causing the blonde man beside him to laugh. A child, somewhere in the distance, was crying loudly and it made Draco think sombrely. "Do you want children Harry?" He asked softly, looking down to the brunette with curious, blazing blue eyes.

"Yeah, someday, I guess. Do you?"

"Yes."

"Cool."

"Harry," Draco started after they had walked some, past the shrieking children and into a rather secluded area of the common. "I was wondering whether…" Draco paused and looked around the trees to a proper structure to his sentencing.

The time, ticking on like it loves to do, caused Harry to get rather irritated with the blonde. As much attraction as was felt towards Draco- an attraction that spanned a good part of ten years- he was still highly irate by the performance that came about from his dates with Draco.

If he was in a better mood, Harry might have been able to bring himself to talk about it. As it was, he wasn't, and so he egged Draco on into speaking with a drawled out "Yes?"

"Um, Well… I really like you Harry." Draco said with small amounts of conviction, to which he stood up straighter and pulled his shoulders back. "I know it's a little bit late for this, but I just wanted you to know."

Harry stood and thought. He cornered that sense of slight relief from his mental torture and hugged it tightly. "A little late?" He asked aghast. "After all those years… after all that time we fought? I think we over stretched the mark a whole yard, not just a couple of inches…"

"Yeah, but…"

"But nothing Draco." Harry looked up slightly saddened and turned to walk away. It took so much for Draco not to go after him; he had been chasing thoughts of Harry for a rather long time.

**2.3**

Harry walked alone home, the day coming into its last period and the sun glistened because of it all the more. He had been walking for some while, stopping to eat lunch and browse shop windows. He had even ventured enough to purchase a really beautiful cashmere coat, of grey so silver, in preparation for the winter months that were coming in fast.

When he got home he placed the coat in his wardrobe and sat in front of the television with idle mind. His telephone rang loudly in the kitchen, but he took no notice of its drone. I want peace, he thought to himself. And quietly he went to sleep, with peace he so wished for.


End file.
